Recent Statuses

24 days ago
Current Yeah being sober is cool but I kind of wish I had waited until after I got seven screws in my foot to swear off pills. There's a reason doctors prescribe opiates and not tylenol.
2 mos ago
I love watching my posts per day number slowly go down. It's a symbol of my dedication to never writing and just logging on to update my status. I'll throw a party once it gets below .5/day.
3 mos ago
Started doing keto because now that I'm sober I need a new way to make myself feel like absolute dogshit.
3 mos ago
One time I was getting off work and a white guy with dreads rode past me on a bike, asked "what's the dealio-sitch, brotherman?" And then did a wheelie. It was like talking to God.
1 like
3 mos ago
My dream job is collecting unemployment and then helping someone put in flooring like once a month. If there's a degree for that I'll actually go back to college.


Most Recent Posts

I'm voting for "God is Great." I don't want to get pretentious, and I don't want to make myself out to be some kind of expert, but what I am is somebody who's had a keen interest in the conflict in Syria (and the rest of the Middle East) for a long time. I've read a lot of testimonials and such from people who live in the area. There's a real heartbreaking quote from this Pakistani child where he says something to the effect of "I always pray for grey skies. When the skies are gray, the drones don't come."

"God is Great" is one of the most human depictions of the reality of life in the countries devastated by the forever wars of the region. A story about a boy and his uncle is an infinitely more effective statement on the issue that any talking head on a cable news network could manage. I think the decision to keep the circumstance of the father's death ambiguous was a good one, even with the dialogue that implies that he was at least seen by his killers to be a terrorist. I get the sense that this is a story that could have been 200 pages if @V A S H wanted it to be, and I get the sense that the writer knew these characters inside and out.

I'm starting to ramble a little bit so I'll leave it there, but that story was great.
The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho
Anna Karenina by Tolstoy

Anna Karenina is a masterpiece! Do you know which translation you're reading?

I've been trying to read more non-fiction. It took me like four years but I finally finished Marx's Capital about a week ago. I'm thinking about reading Orwell's Homage to Catalonia next. I'm really not a big fan of Orwell (or at least, not a fan of Animal Farm), but I'm super interested in the Spanish Civil War.
I used to be a hard line, militant atheist even though I was raised Catholic. Started changing my views a little bit after I survived a suicide attempt a little more than a year ago. I definitely believe in something, and it stands to reason to me that anything that created us would see to it that our lives are more than just the seventy-ish years we get on Earth. I'm basically of the opinion that heaven, or something sort of like it, is real. I don't believe in hell, though. I can't quite mesh the idea of an all-loving God with the idea of hell in my head, it just doesn't click.

I can't quite make myself believe in it, probably just because it's so culturally far removed from the religious teaching I grew up with, but reincarnation would be tight as fuck. I'm not betting on it, but that's what I'm personally hoping for.

What musical artist would you most like to see perform live?
Still around. Will be posting soon.
Drostan Welm/"Osmund Griff" - Outside of Dalenham, Ethora

Drostan's eyes widened in surprise as Varian's two new recruits. When Varian had mentioned he'd found extra people, Drostan had figured he'd grabbed a couple of sturdy-looking millers bearing battered militia gear and in need of extra coin. Or else a couple of dumb, eager youths from the outlying farms, in the city looking for money for their families. Expendables, he'd figured. Extra muscle to bring along for the mission, pay well, and never think about again. Even if he'd been expecting something different, he could not have possibly come up with the "Orc and woman" combo. The woman, he supposed, wasn't all that surprising. In his years as an Ethoran noble, Drostan could count on one hand the number of time he'd ever seen a woman fight, but since becoming a mercenary he realized that the exclusion of women from combat was largely a classist one. Among regular people, women taking up arms seemed to be much less rare, even common. No, it was the Orc that really threw him off. It was strange, that he'd just been thinking about the possibility of orc civility, and here was one now that seemed, or acted, perfectly personable.

Neither introduced themselves and even though Drostan figured that was probably proper, given the situation, his upbringing made it hard to not feel impolite about not introducing himself. He tried to keep it business-like, and with the low, tired quality his voice had by default, the effect was somewhere between boredom and disinterest.

"Osmund. Osmund Griff." He figured he didn't need to clarify that it was his name since most people weren't in the habit of greeting strangers with other people's names.

When the merchant and Varian had both finished talking, Drostan found himself a little concerned, and that concern put an edge in his voice.

"Twenty?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. He was aware that the merchant had said there could be as many as thirty, but the lower figure was worrisome enough. "Twenty men in a fortified position? Is there more than one entrance? Because if there's only one gate and we charge it..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "If they've got even one good archer, one or two of us are down before we ever get to the gates. And then they could choke us off at the gate, if it's narrow enough." He frowned. He didn't like this. At all. But if the merchant intended to have them killed at this fort, why pay them so much in advance? Was the man stupid? Or was Drostan simply overestimating how difficult this would be?

His frown deepened.
"Damn it!" Edwyn saw a rare moment of non-composure from the sergeant, and as he watched her look over her meager column of men he saw something that might have been fear. Reyes was always coarse and irritable, but she never seemed like this, somehow off-balance. But almost as though she knew someone was watching her as closely as he was, she took a deep breath and leveled her voice to address the comms tech. "Is he fully aware of the situation here on the ground?"

"Yes, sergeant! I told him everything, but he wants this station taken." There was some bitterness in the tech's voice. This was news he took no pleasure in reporting. There was some grumbling among the column as they heard this, scattered jeers of the various derogatory names and remarks normally applied to Brady, most of which concerned his weight. Reyes turned on them, but her gaze didn't shut them up as it normally might have. Taking the station was a fool's endeavor, and they knew it. They didn't want to do it, and Edwyn didn't want to either, but he understood two very important things.

Firstly, he knew there weren't many other options. They couldn't wait for reinforcements since none were coming and since their position became more dangerous the longer they stayed put. They couldn't desert, because they had no means to leave the planet and even if they did, they would be blasted apart by their own fleet as soon as they broke orbit, seeing as the 121st had a zero-tolerance policy toward deserters. Secondly, he didn't think that Reyes would disobey an order. As good of a leader as she might have been, she liked structure, liked order. Maybe her sense of duty was misplaced, but if Brady wanted an assault, Edwyn assumed that Reyes would give him one.

"Alright, soldiers, break for five! Check your gear, and then double check it. We move as soon as we're ready." Almost too stunned to mount resistance, the soldiers grumbled again and the column dispersed. Edwyn stared incredulously at Reyes. Eventually, she caught his gaze and waved him over. "What's your problem, corporal?" She spoke lowly, an edge in her tone. Edwyn might have been intimidated, at one point, but having seen a few men die earlier that day had hardened him, at least for the moment.

"My problem is that you're sending us straight to hell, here, Sarge." He said, without much expression. A statement of fact. Reyes seemed blindsided by his frankness, at first, before anger twisted her expression.

"That sounds like sedition."

"Are you not afraid of dying?"

"Of course I'm afraid. But I'm a soldier, O'Byrne. I follow orders." Reyes narrowed her eyes. "I need you to keep doing the corporal thing, Felix went septic. Webley thinks he's dead within the hour." Edwyn blinked in surprise. Felix was a career merc who'd been bounced around between units and companies for various offenses, mostly relating to his tendency to drink heavily. He'd only been with the 121st for a couple of months, and he was a lazy, mean old bastard, but Edwyn had liked him. "You're taking an actual squad this time. That Jayser you found is with you." She trailed off, not wanting to say 'because no one else will take her.' Edwyn sighed, and nodded, the temporary spurt of defiance gone.

He went to go collect the members of his squad, and the first one he found was Kyra.

"You're with me, Sloane." He cleared his throat. "I, uh, asked to make sure Ushkov was put with someone else. You shouldn't have to worry about him." It was true, but he was sure that fact provided little comfort. Doubtless, a good chunk of the men shared his prejudices. Even if they didn't, if every single other squadmate was a forward-thinking egalitarian, they were still quite probably headed to their deaths. He realized, then, that as like as not they'd never have a real conversation, since one or both of them were liable to die within the next couple of hours. It was a sobering thought, and he wanted to talk, then. Ask her something about herself, so that he could connect her name in his head with something other than 'Jayser,' but he didn't. There wasn't time.
I'll be looking into a post tomorrow, but I might just wait for @TheLazarus
“Drostan” sounds like part of the title for a TV thriller.

The Drostan Files.

Not even gonna lie I got it from Call of Duty
"Cool it, Sloane!" Edwyn snapped, when he saw her level the rifle. He'd watched the whole ordeal, and had been about to step in and say something when the other soldier, Edwyn thought his name might have been Ushkov, grabbed her, but thought better of it after she put him on his ass. It was a fight, they were bound to happen, and he was going to let it play out. Then, guns started getting pointed. "We're all on the same side." He looked to the man against the tree trunk. "Isn't that right, Ushkov?"

"I ain't working with no fuckin' freak." Ushkov was talking to Edwyn, but his eyes were trained firmly on Kyra. Something in the space between fear and anger in his eyes. Edwyn took a moment, then, to really study the man. Ushkov was older than him, he guessed, but by how much was hard to tell. He was bald, with a nasty-looking scar on his neck. Edwyn didn't know his story, but he didn't seem like a man that was used to losing fights.

"I've been surviving shit like this for more than a year, and I do not intend to die on this goddamn rock because you're scared of Jaysers, Ushkov!" The edge in Edwyn's voice surprised himself. He figured his words were probably fueled by his own fear, his own anger. He guessed you didn't need a reason to live to be afraid of dying. If he survived the only future ahead of him laid in more battles, more near-deaths. But as bleak as that was, dying amongst strangers on a planet that no one would remember in twenty years felt bleaker.

"I ain't scared of shit." Ushkov said, finally looking away from Kyra to spit at the ground, presumably to punctuate his point. Edwyn allowed himself a slight grin at the man's expense.

"Good. Then there'll be no more problems?" He met Ushkov's eyes, and when Ushkov didn't respond he sighed and amended his words. "No more harassing your squadmates while we're in enemy territory?" And then Ushkov grumbled in agreement and stood up, purposefully not looking at Kyra. He felt a little guilty. He didn't have a problem with Jaysers, personally. He'd had a cousin with J Syndrome, but he'd drank himself to death on account of the migraines. He'd taken a soft stance, with Ushkov. But the last thing he needed was someone who hated him watching his back. Besides, Kyra was very clearly able to take care of herself. "And, Sloane, try and keep that thing pointed toward the people who are getting paid to try and kill us."

He'd been a leader, before. Back home, on Manifest. A union rep, and then a revolutionary. He'd lost the taste for it, after all of that had crumbled, and he was surprised to find that he still had any kind of ability to do so. Then again, it was easy to lead when the fear of getting gunned down if you made a wrong move hung in the air. Scared people were easily led, as any of The League's high councilors or any of the corporations boardsmen could tell you. Still, though, he almost wept with relief as they neared his dropship. Reyes could find someone else to play corporal.
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